From Neglected Wife to CEO’s Obsession novel Chapter 118

The scene was honestly a mess. Elliot, my boss—the CEO himself—was sprawled out on the floor, looking both annoyed and freshly showered. His long black robe was hanging open at the collar, showing off his right collarbone and way too much flawless skin. It was almost blinding, the kind of pale that makes you forget how to breathe, and there was something about it that was just... distracting.

My eyes traveled up. His face was basically perfect, but right now his jaw was tight and his usually warm, dreamy eyes were cold and sharp. His lips were pressed together in a grim line, and honestly, he looked like he might murder someone—with words, if not actual violence.

Then I noticed his forehead. There was this huge, red bump, already starting to swell. A single drop of water slid down from his hairline, tracing over the swelling and dripping down his face like a tiny waterfall.

And me? I was basically glued to him, my left hand planted on his bare chest, my right still gripping the spray bottle. Our bodies were all tangled up, and there was zero space between us. The scent of his soap was everywhere, and I was very aware that it was late autumn and kind of cold in the house—except for him, who was warm and solid underneath me. I could feel every line of his body, especially lower down where… yeah, something definitely wasn’t sleeping.

Oh god. Last time I stripped him to check out his abs. Now this.

I caught my reflection in his eyes—tiny, panicked, totally mortified.

“Well?” Elliot’s voice was ice-cold, each word perfectly clear and just as sharp. “Are you planning to drown me right here, Ms. Greenwood?”

Instantly, I pushed myself off, rolling to the side in a flustered heap.

It might have looked graceful if the spray bottle hadn’t twisted at the last second and spritzed his face again, like he was a houseplant in desperate need of watering.

Elliot sat up with that ridiculous, effortless elegance of his, swiping water off his face. Droplets sparkled down his cheek, and the freezing aura around him made the room feel ten degrees colder.

His silk robe was half-soaked, the wet and dry fabric forming this weird, fancy-looking line across his chest.

I stared at the bump on his forehead and felt like crying. I hadn’t even paid him back for the suit I ruined last time, and now I’d gone and injured him and destroyed what looked like a designer robe you probably couldn’t even buy in this country.

And all for watering his plants. Who knew I could do this much damage with a spray bottle?

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